


It Wasn't About the Figurines

by fwooshy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Case Fic, Drarropoly: A Drarry Game/Fest, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Humor, M/M, Serial Killers, Unreliable Narrator, but Draco and Hermione are on it, harry is sus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwooshy/pseuds/fwooshy
Summary: Draco knew that moving in with Harry was going to be trouble. But even he didn't expect that finding Harry's stash of copulating house-elf figurines would frame Harry as a serial killer.Could Draco's idiot boyfriend really be a multi-murderer? Draco teams up with Hermione to find out.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 74
Collections: Drarropoly '20: Founders Edition





	It Wasn't About the Figurines

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: The M is for language, murder attempts (no graphic depictions of attempts), and descriptions of copulating house-elf figurines. 
> 
> Thanks so much to [The_Sinking_Ship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sinking_Ship/) for the beta!

We’d been dating for almost three years when Harry suggested that we get a flat together. He’d asked on the evening of my third consecutive night over that week. I’d run out of socks, which meant a messy next-morning Floo to fetch clean ones under the judging sneers of the Manor’s portraits, all who reported directly to Mother. To say that I was not looking forward to my walk of shame would be an egregious understatement. So I was in a vulnerable state when I agreed.

Do I regret it? No, never. I never regret anything with Harry; not anymore, not since we’ve done the impossible and made love from the ashes of war. But moving in with him caused more trouble than I ever could have dreamed. They say that trouble usually finds Harry. This time, it found me first.

It all started about two days after we’d officially moved in. We finished unpacking the boxes and were having takeaway curry on our new sofa when Gawain Robards’ ugly mug burst forth from the fireplace.

“Sweet Baby Ray’s!” Harry yelled at the same time Robards exclaimed “Merlin’s bloody ballsacks!”

“Gryffindors,” I rolled my eyes. “It isn’t like you interrupted us mid-coitus.”

“I’d almost prefer that to _this_ ,” Robards groaned, gesturing toward us with one hand and covering his eyes with the other.

I admit that he caught us in a compromising position. Harry was spooned up against my back, one hand firmly around my waist while the other waved about, conducting bites of curry to my mouth or his in alternating turns. I was running my fingers down Harry’s inner thighs, enjoying the rush of feeling him harden behind me.

Harry gently nudged me forward. I took the hint and stood. Being an Auror was hard work; crime sleeps for no one; yada-yada. I understood. But as I was leaving the room, I couldn’t resist giving Harry one last haughty look. I was looking forward to sex, alright? Harry was going to have to pay. It was only fair.

But we didn’t end up having sex that night, or the night after. In fact, we didn’t have sex for nearly two weeks, because he left as soon as he finished his call with Robards.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, trying to aim for my mouth as he buttoned up his shirt. He missed. My boy was an idiot. Most powerful wizard in the world and he still forgot that he could button up his shirt with magic.

I leaned in to kiss my idiot properly.

He dragged his hands through my hair, pulling me closer. And then he backed away, leaving me breathless. “I’ll be back before our anniversary,” he promised.

Our anniversary was in two weeks, so I believed him.

The next day, I found them. The figurines.

I knew I had to Floo-call Granger.

But first, I Floo-called Pansy. Because, loyalty.

“Circe’s tits.” She lifted one of the figurines gingerly between two enamel nails. “They’re really fucking, aren’t they.”

The figurine was about the size of a generous apple. In it, one house-elf was thrown over a counter of some sort, while another thrust vigorously into its — backdoor orifice — at a beat of perhaps seventy per minute. And this was one of the tamer figurines. I caught the unfortunate glimpse of a deepthroated mop handle before I managed to look away.

“Well, what are you going to do about it, hun?”

I groaned. “I ought to Floo Granger.”

“What’s Granger got to do with this?” She looked more annoyed than she had with the fucking house-elf figurines. She never liked it when I mentioned Granger. I’d been flattered at first, because I thought she was jealous of someone getting closer to me than her, but now I was starting to suspect that it was some sort of unresolved sexual tension between the two of them.

I decided against teasing Pansy about it. Whatever she had going on with Granger had nothing to do with me, so I didn’t care. I said, “It has to do with a case.”

She tutted, patting me on the head. And then she left. Talking about work always put her to sleep.

See, the problem was, it wasn’t just about the figurines. I could have dealt with the figurines. Don’t get me wrong, they were absolutely disturbing. But I _loved_ Harry. If he could love me and my Dark Mark, I could love him and his dozen fucking house-elves.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Can it wait?” Hermione barked through the Floo. She had an apron on and some sort of white powder on her nose. My dear cousin Teddy was jumping up and down and grabbing at her sleeves, his hair turning blue then green then purple then blue again, shouting, “Cookie! Cookie!”

“You should step through.” I paused. “Best if you left Teddy.”

She did as I suggested. She did most things I suggested these days. We had a hard-earned trust between us now, having spent the last half-decade together in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

“Bloody hell.” She squinted at the figurines, analyzing them clinically as though it wasn’t the first fucking house-elf figurine that she’d seen.

Because it wasn’t. That was the problem. The figurines were identical to the ones submitted as evidence for an active serial murderer. One of these grotesque figurines was left next to every victim.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Hermione asked.

“Pansy.”

She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. “You can’t —”

“Oh piss off. Don’t act like you would’ve done any differently.”

She made a sour face, as though saying, _But why Pansy?_ Honestly, these two. If I wasn’t contending with the realization that my idiot boyfriend was a bloody serial murderer, I might have stepped in and played cupid myself.

Hermione was starting to look worried. “You don’t think, Harry —”

“It’s evidence,” I said reluctantly.

“But you don’t _think_ —” she trailed off.

I scowled. “No one wants to think their boyfriend is capable of murder. But who bloody knows? I thought my father wasn’t capable of genocide, but it turns out he was.”

She paled. “Harry’s not your father.”

I knew what she meant, and I knew that she was right. But she also didn’t understand how much I once idolized my father, and how my world shattered when I finally accepted the man he truly was. I didn’t think I would ever be able to fully trust again.

“Let’s get it catalogued and move on,” I said.

✦ ✦ ✦

Auror Longbottom was waiting at my desk when I got into work the next Monday. I was expecting him. He was our liaison with the Auror department, so he would’ve received an owl as soon as we’d finished filing the paperwork yesterday afternoon.

He handed me a paper cup of coffee from the breakroom. “I gather the news is big,” he said, nodding toward the door I’d just shut. “We have a suspect?”

I grimaced. “Harry Potter.”

“ _No_ ,” he exclaimed.

I reached over to steady his arm. Coffee stains were a pain to get out, even with repeated charms.

“Did you take a look at the evidence?” I asked.

He sighed. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way. But I’d more likely believe that _you_ did it than him.”

“What, like I’m framing him?” I asked, honestly bewildered. How could I _not_ take that the wrong way?

“Look, I think you’re a fine bloke, but —”

“But _what?_ ”

He scratched his head awkwardly. “Can you really see Harry coming up with the copulating house-elves? He’s not nearly imaginative enough. But you scored top of class in creative assholitry.”

I supposed I deserved that. The Potter Stinks badges, _Weasley is Our King_. I liked pranks, alright? But I’d scored practically zero on killing intent. That’s how I’d flunked out of the Auror program and found myself with the DRCMC.

“Gryffindors,” I scoffed instead. No sense of self-preservation. They didn’t understand how easy it was to reach for treachery in the pits of desperation. Everyone turned into a monster with enough pressure.

But Longbottom hadn’t heard me. He was reading a memo instead. It must’ve slipped under the door when I hadn’t been paying attention. I straightened, frowning. Red memos meant bad news.

“Another one?” I asked.

He shook his head apologetically and got up to leave. He wasn’t permitted to say until the paperwork was filed on their end. That was how the relationship worked between our two departments.

Granger hurried in as soon as Longbottom left, her cheeks flushed. In truth, I felt a tad feverish myself. This case was the most exciting thing to happen to the DRCMC since its inception, and we’d only been roped in because of the fucking house-elves. The Aurors thought maybe the suspect would be someone involved in illegal house-elf trafficking.

No one could have suspected it was my idiot boyfriend.

“Was he with you last night?” Hermione asked.

“No.” I frowned. No alibi.

She sighed loudly. “I wish I could see the crime scene. I’m sure they’re missing something critical.”

“You know they’ll never let you.”

“Yes, but it’s the _Aurors_.” Her leg started jumping under the table. “They’re going to muck it up.”

I met her eyes across the desk. There was a glint in her eyes that reminded me of a boulder rolling down a mountain. Either you ran with it, or you let it squish you flat as a flapjack.

I decided to run with it.

“Alright,” I said, shaking my head. “Alright.”

She was right. I didn’t think it was Harry, and I’d do anything to prove it.

✦ ✦ ✦

I ran into Robards in the cafeteria. “I need to talk to Harry,” I explained, “I can’t find my — my shaver. I’m dying without it.”

He looked pointedly at my hairless jawline, the one I shaved with magic because I was a bloody wizard.

“Okay, I just miss him, alright?” I tried whining instead. “Can you just tell me when he’s going to be back from his case?”

“What case?” Robards smirked, waggling his brows. Then he took the last chair at a table of Aurors. Arsehole. I turned on my heel to join Granger.

She looked up at me expectantly.

“He acted like there wasn’t a mission. And then he waggled his brows.”

“Arsehole,” Granger muttered.

“What if he’s in on it?”

“It’s a possibility,” she said, leaning back with a hand on her chin.

“In any case, it’s not an alibi.”

“Yeah. Ugh, I hate this.”

I understood what she meant. It was killing me, to be so close to the case but unable to do anything.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nothing happened for the next two days. I had about a hundred requests to bring in magical creatures from a travelling circus alone, so that kept my hands busy as Granger marathoned a running commentary of what the Aurors must’ve gotten wrong.

“Ron is one of the Aurors, you know,” she said for maybe the tenth time that day, “Would you trust that prat with anything?”

“You would,” I pointed out. She loved Ron, despite their recent breakup. And everyone knew that Ron was brilliant at Wizard’s Chess.

“Won’t you take my side for once?” she scowled.

I was about to tell her that I made it a policy to only ever take my own side, as that was practically the first thing you learned to do as a Slytherin, but I was interrupted when Longbottom burst into my office.

“You’ll want to see this one,” he started to say just as an owl pelted toward my chest, knocking me out of my chair.

I got up and untied the parchment from its ankles with shaky hands. I’d recognized the owl to be one from St. Mungo’s, so I knew something terrible had happened.

I read it. And then my throat started to close.

“What is it?” Granger asked. But I only looked up at Longbottom. “You,” I croaked out.

“Sorry,” he said. He sighed. “Yeah, it’s connected.”

✦ ✦ ✦

The thing was, I didn’t even know Pansy had put me down as her next of kin. Both her parents were living. She even had an older sister, although they weren’t close. Still, I thought next of kin was, well — _kin_ — regardless of how you actually felt about them.

I sat by her hospital bed. Granger was on the other side, but Pansy was looking at me. _Because she’s mine_ , I thought. She was my girl, even if she fancied frizzy-haired bookworms.

“Were you terribly afraid?” I whispered, stroking her hand.

“Oh, Draco, it was _awful_ ,” she sniffed. “To think I’d been so close to dying.”

“Did you see anything?” Granger asked.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Of _course_ not. I was in the middle of an immersive sound bath. You’ve got to be blindfolded for that, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Granger agreed, patting Pansy’s other hand affectionately.

In the end, it was the sound bath that saved Pansy. It lowered her heart rate so slow that the would-be murderer thought her already dead. They’d left her a figurine anyway.

“I did — well,” Pansy hesitated. “I did hear something kind of weird. When the man —”

“Or woman,” Hermione interjected.

“Or — well, _monster_ , I suppose.” Pansy shuddered dramatically. “When they were leaving, they laced up their boots.”

“What, by hand?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes! I heard them sit down on the floor and lace them up, eyelet by eyelet. It took forever — honestly, aeons. I thought I was going to die from boredom. Have you heard of any proper wizard — sorry, or witch — lacing up their boots by _hand?_ Even children —”

“I do,” Granger grumbled.

“Harry does,” I gasped. He was always doing Muggle things.

“So our suspect is probably a Muggleborn, or a half-blood, at least,” Granger mused.

“Potter’s a half-blood,” Pansy gasped.

I held her hand tighter.

“This doesn’t mean anything concrete,” Granger said.

“But it’s another point against Harry,” I contended.

Granger didn’t respond. I could tell that she was thinking, so I let her be and chatted with Pansy while she figured out our next move.

✦ ✦ ✦

The next move was to break into Weasley’s office. He was the Auror in charge, and had his own office where he locked up his ongoing case files. But the preparations took us into the next week.

“Ron loves a good schedule,” Hermione explained. “He can’t function without one. So we’ll have to plan for Tuesday.”

“Why not the weekend?” I asked.

She shook her head. “He’s got wards all over.”

“But they’re disabled on Tuesdays?”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. I wasn’t insulted. Most people looked like idiots to Hermione Granger.

“The Cannons play Tuesdays.”

“So he’ll be pissed drunk,” I nodded, understanding.

“Too drunk to Apparate properly. So he’ll have to shove his way to the Floo, and then he’ll have to enunciate properly, which he’s terrible at when he’s even the slightest bit tipsy —”

“Harry too.”

“— which should buy us a total of fifteen minutes.”

“How do we get out?”

“Through the Floo. He’s keyed the wards so that he can come directly from the office to my flat for pizza nights. And he trusts me, you know.”

And we were going to take advantage of that trust. “I’m growing to like you more every day, Hermione,” I said.

She grinned and raised her hand. I gave into the silly Muggle tradition and slapped it. Muggleborns, really. I could feel my father shuddering in Azkaban.

✦ ✦ ✦

The rest of the week went by impossibly slow. Pansy spent two more days at St. Mungo’s before she was sent home. Longbottom greeted me when I Apparated in front of her building.

“They put you on security detail?” I asked, surprised. They usually relegated the juniors to that sort of work.

“It will take more than a few juniors to take him down if the suspect is who we think it is,” Longbottom grimaced.

I took that to mean that Harry was still the top suspect and tucked that away for later.

“Do you really think they’d try to off Pansy again?”

He hesitated. “We’re not sure. No one’s actually escaped before.”

✦ ✦ ✦

I made Pansy a pot of tea and then asked if I could use her Floo.

“Of course, dear,” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to call Granger, aren’t you.”

“No take-backs!” I shouted, closing her bedroom door behind me.

Hermione answered her Floo in seconds.

“They’ve got Longbottom on security detail,” I relayed.

“So? We already know Harry’s the top suspect.”

“Alright, alright,” I sighed. I knew I didn’t actually need to call her. But it was driving me crazy, having this all in my head while going around and pretending all I cared about was paperwork.

“You’re going mad, aren’t you,” Hermione said kindly. “You miss him.”

“No, I don’t.” But it sounded pathetic, even to me. I sighed. “He’s an idiot.”

“How long’s it going to be?”

“Three years next week.”

Hermione whistled. “I thought it’d been longer, to be honest.”

“He said he wouldn’t miss it.” I didn’t know why I was getting so emotional about it. An anniversary was only a date. And it wouldn’t matter much anyway if he ended up being a serial murderer.

“He won’t,” Hermione promised. And then her face hardened. “Are you at Pansy’s?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Did you _tell her?_ ”

“Merlin, no!”

“Tell me what?” Pansy chose that moment to intercede.

“Hermione’s pregnant,” I blurted out.

“Jesus!” Pansy shouted. She turned to Hermione. “Is it true?”

“I —,” Hermione babbled, “I — yes. I’ve got to go, sorry —”

The fire died down. I didn’t know what possessed me to blurt out that lie, of all things, but what was done was done. I Accio’d over a bottle of wine.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Did you really have to tell _that_ lie, of all things?” Hermione complained the following Tuesday after work.

I’d Floo’d over to her place to get ready for the break-in, and was in the middle of pulling a ski mask over my head. It was itchy.

“I’ve already said I’m sorry, Hermione,” I said, exasperated. I didn’t know how to fix it. We could clear things up with Pansy after everything was out in the open, but until then, there was nothing we could do. It might not even matter then. There was no reason for them to start a romance if Hermione and I ended up behind bars for aiding and abetting a serial murderer.

Hermione was smiling.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh nothing,” she laughed. I knew she was waiting for me to get riled up. I _hated_ it when people withheld information from me.

It worked. “Godric dammit, just tell me, Hermione!”

She laughed again. “There you go again. _Hermione_.”

“Merlin.”

“You’ve been calling me by my first name for days. Did you even notice?”

“Absolutely not.” I pulled on a pair of black gloves. Hermione had said something about not leaving fingerprints, but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t planning on touching anything anyway. It was so Muggle to handle things when you could just get magic to do it for you.

She was still waiting for me to go on, so I sighed and said, “What do you want me to say? I like you, alright? You’re a bloody good coworker and Harry’s best mate, and I figure if you and Pansy were going to have a go at it, I might as well get used to you.”

“Pansy?” she asked, smirking.

“Oh shit,” I groaned. “My fucking _mouth_.”

“You really think she likes me?” She was tucking her massive head of hair into a black beanie.

“ _Like_ ,” I scoffed, “I could tolerate _like_. She’s obsessed with you. I had to suffer through five bottles of wine with her after I’d blurted out that you were pregnant.”

“Least you deserve,” she muttered.

“Right,” I said, ignoring her. I held out a hand. “Ready to commit crime?”

“Ready,” she declared. We stepped through the Floo, hand-in-hand.

✦ ✦ ✦

The alarms started blaring at once.

“Did he really have to add all the noise?” I shouted.

“Ron saw it in a Muggle movie and thought it was funny,” Hermione shouted back.

“Muggleborns,” I bemoaned, blasting an Alohomora at the filing cabinet. It burst open, spewing files all over the floor. I cast another charm to tidy them up, and flipped through them, setting aside the ones that looked relevant.

“Five more minutes,” Hermione warned. “We better start copying them.”

I finished my last stack and started copying the files over to new scrolls of parchment.

“Two minutes,” Hermione said. She’d finished her stack and was sending the files back into their cabinets in orderly little queues.

“Done,” I announced.

Footsteps were stumbling down the hall outside.

“Why didn’t Weasley Floo direct to his office?” I asked, spelling the last file cabinet closed as our copies swished through the fireplace.

Hermione dragged me through to her flat just as the doorknob started to jiggle. “Too drunk to remember his office number,” she explained.

“Is this what being a best mate is to a Gryffindor? I bet you even know what condom he buys.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Trick question. He knicks them from his mum.”

I made a face. “Disgusting.”

“I _know_ ,” she shuddered.

She motioned for me to sit down. She’d already organized the files into different piles, and placed them in front of each chair of her dining table like place settings. I sat down and got to work.

✦ ✦ ✦

Halfway through the second night, Hermione lifted up a crime scene photo for me to see. She pointed at a small brooch dropped by the victim’s left hand. It was in the shape of a small snake, curled around a human heart.

I recognized it. I had it custom made for Harry on our last anniversary. Because his heart was mine, alright? I have my sentimental moments.

I knew Hermione recognized it too. “This doesn’t look good,” she murmured. She looked up at me. There were dark rings under her eyes. “Do you think, do you think —”

“No. It’s not Harry. He wouldn’t.”

“But you said it yourself. That people —”

I shook my head, surprised by my own conviction. “ _No_. Me, maybe. You, even. But not Harry.”

She exhaled deeply, leaning back in her chair. “You’re right.”

“I fucking hate him sometimes,” I said. “The absolute _gall_. Making us all look like terrible humans because we’ve an ounce more self-preservation than him.”

Hermione laughed. “You know, he was almost sorted into Slytherin?”

“I don’t believe it,” I said, even though I really could. It didn’t matter what he could have been. It all came down to choice, and Harry always chose to do the right thing.

✦ ✦ ✦

We worked for two more nights. It was probably the most I’d worked in years. I was nearly delirious when finally, Hermione found our big break.

“They’re going to go for Theodore Nott next.” She was looking up at the whiteboard. Names were circled and connected to other names like a tangled ball of yarn. My eyes hurt looking at it.

“Why?”

“It’s all people who were on the Inquisitorial Squad,” she explained. “They’re working down the list from bottom up. Merlin, I’m so _stupid_ . I don’t know how I didn’t notice it earlier, how they were all _Slytherins_.”

I hadn’t either. But I knew that after Theo was — _me_ . Harry was out to kill _me?_ Or would he save me for last, as his favourite? Assuming I _was_ his favourite. Who knew, maybe he was only dating me to get close enough to kill my friends. I imagined my throat being slit, Harry dangling a figurine of a copulating pair of house-elves over me. And as my vision blacked out, the last thing I saw before I died was a house-elf cock sliding into the wrinkled mouth of another —

I shook my head to clear it. It was not the time for delusions.

“When?” I asked.

She furrowed her brow, thinking. And then she gasped. “Two hours. If you add up the letters of their name and then modularize it by —”

I threw her a ski mask to shut her up. I didn’t give a fuck how she figured it out; I trusted her.

“You can’t mean —” Hermione hesitated.

“Come _on_ ,” I urged, voice muffled by a ski mask half on my head. Lining up the eye holes was a pain, alright?

She pulled hers on too. “Right. Let’s do this.”

✦ ✦ ✦

My flat wasn’t connected to Theo’s, but Pansy’s was connected to Blaise’s, and Blaise’s was connected to Theo’s, so we burst into Theo’s flat without much difficulty or anyone else the wiser.

But Harry had already beat us there. “What the fuck are you doing here!” he yelled just outside of Theo’s bedroom.

“What the fuck are _you —_ ” I sputtered when I saw him.

“This is my case!” Harry shouted the same time I screamed “You’re not going to kill Theo!” and blasted him back from the door.

But Theo’s neck was already slit. I ran to him, casting a Vulnera Sanentur to sew it shut. “Theo,” I whispered down at his glassy eyes. He was still blinking, which was good, but —

A gloved hand circled around my waist, pulling me back.

I shoved an elbow back. “Leave me the fuck _alone_ , Harry,” I spat out. I didn’t care if he was a murderer. I wasn’t going to let him shove me around, not when —

Harry was staring at me from across the room. Which meant the person behind me wasn’t Harry.

A wand pressed against my throat.

“Don’t move, or he dies,” a voice hissed behind me.

Harry dropped his wand and raised his hands.

“Kill him, Harry.” I wasn’t worth it. The sooner this ended, the better.

“Draco,” Harry whispered. “I love you.”

My idiot. Sentimental to the end. “I love you too,” I said, choking. I closed my eyes.

The man went limp behind me, crumbling to the floor.

I blinked, turning around. Hermione stood behind me with her wand out.

I stared at her, dazed. I was still dazed when Harry shoved me around and into his arms. Had that really — had I really —

The room swirled around me. I saw the blur of Healers taking Theo out by stretcher. I saw Hermione standing by the bed with a figurine in her hand, spinning it, before looking back at us again.

I stepped away from Harry. “Hermione,” I said, staggering toward her. She threw her arms around me. And then she pushed me back to Harry.

“Let me show you something,” she said. She cast Finite Incantatem, and we watched the figurine morph into a bloody knife.

I gasped. It was the murder weapon.

“Why would he transfigure it into _that_ though?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s a messed up concealment spell,” Hermione explained. “Monstra Domo Sexus, instead of Monstr-ah Dom-uh Sexus. One conceals the weapon. The other turns the weapon into — well, what you saw.”

I started laughing.

Harry’s brows were still furrowed. “What’s so funny about it?”

Hermione and I shared a look. I started laughing again.

“Wait till we get home,” I promised Harry. “You’re in for a real treat.”

✦ ✦ ✦

The dozen fucking house-elves in Harry’s flat were concealing a dozen cufflinks in a range of metal tones and jewels, of a lion and a serpent, intertwined. Harry had also bought me a pack of socks.

“Happy Anniversary,” he said, blushing, “I’m sorry that —”

I laughed and kissed my idiot quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my Drarropoly prompt, with additional points for Unreliable Narrator and Crack:  
>  _"What the Hell is this?" While unpacking for their first time moving in together, one of them finds an item while unpacking the other's belongings that is either embarrassing or upsetting._
> 
> This was my first time writing first person/unreliable narrator. Hope you had a laugh!
> 
> You can find me on [dw](https://fwooshy.dreamwidth.org/) and [tumblr](https://fw00shy.tumblr.com/).


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